


The Finest Balm

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: MFMM Year of Quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 17:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16045430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: “Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.” ~ Jane AustenPhryne has to stage a rescue.





	The Finest Balm

**Author's Note:**

> (1) This fic is meant as a tongue-in-cheek approach to “Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.”   
> (2) This is my public acknowledgment that I was wrong and Scruggzi (amongst others) was right with regards to my inability to stop writing. ♥

Jack had to hand it to Mrs Brown—upon deciding that a respectable detective inspector was just the thing for her wayward niece, she had set to work with a tenacity that might just about rival Miss Fisher's. So far she had accosted him in his garden, at the greengrocer's, and literally on the street as he dragged himself home at 6am after a long shift. But actually coming to the station was a new development. At least she had caught him on his way back from lunch and hadn't made it inside—the idea of having this conversation around his constables was enough to fill a man with dread.

Jack wondered, briefly, whether the poor niece was even aware of the campaign. The girl was barely older than Miss Williams, for Christ's sake.

Either way, Mrs Brown was there and smiling at him in a way he suspected made lesser men cower in compliance. Unfortunately for Mrs Brown—

A click of heels on the pavement reached his ears, and he tried to repress a smile. Right on time.

"Hello Jack," she said, coming level with him and hooking her arm around his bicep. "I was hoping to catch you; I need a favour."

"Miss Fisher. May I introduce my neighbour, Mrs Brown."

He didn't even need to turn to feel the moment Phryne focused her attentions on the other woman—she stood a little straighter, smiled so brightly he swore it filled the air around her, and stuck out her hand.

"So nice to meet you," she said. "Miss Phryne Fisher. I work with the inspector here. You wouldn't happen to be the source of the mysterious biscuits, would you?"

The problem with Phryne Fisher was that the question was entirely genuine—her capacity to be sincerely interested in other people was one of her most remarkable qualities—but the answer would no doubt be quickly parsed and examined for far more information than the answerer had intended to provide. As Mrs Brown was well aware of the actual baker of said biscuits, one of the few things he'd managed to keep secret for more than two days and had become a matter of pride, Jack had to intervene quickly.

"Mrs Brown was just offering me some theatre tickets."

"Oh yes," Mrs Brown agreed. " _Princess Ida_ is being performed, and I had a ticket spare for Saturday evening."

"How marvelous!" Phryne exclaimed, turning slightly so that Jack could catch the amusement in her eyes but Mrs Brown did not. "Jack's terribly fond of operettas. Unfortunately, though, that's why I've come to speak with the inspector. I'm in rather desperate need of his assistance that day."

He wasn't entirely certain whether she actually had a favour to ask (which never went well) or was attempting to rescue him (also a dire thought), but if it got him out of Gilbert and Sullivan, he was willing to do just about anything.

"Miss Fisher here was just coming to finalise the plans, I'm afraid. It was a very generous offer, and I'm sorry to decline. But work must come first, as I'm sure you can appreciate," he bluffed, deciding to lay it on a little thick. With any luck it would take some of the shine off her opinions of police work. "It seems I'm hardly home, you know. Out all hours, overnights... a policeman's lot is not a happy one."

Beside him, Phryne choked on her laughter and smiled brighter.

"Well, fortunately for Melbourne we have such diligent officers of the law," she said, then turned to Mrs Brown. "Again, so lovely to meet you. I really must abscond with the inspector though, pressing police business. So sorry."

And then she steered Jack up the stairs and into the station, giving Mr Brown a friendly wave goodbye as she did so. Phryne had barely managed to shut the door to his office before she burst into laughter.

"Does Mrs Brown know that half the time you're not at home it’s because you've come to mine?"

Jack hung up his hat and coat, then shrugged as nonchalantly as possible.

"She'd probably see it as a challenge."

Phryne made a sound that was suspiciously close to a harrumph as she took a seat in a visitor's chair and set her feet upon his desk. Rather than take his own seat, Jack leant against the desk next to her feet, and smiled down at her.

"She was very friendly," Phryne remarked, clearly fishing for more information. "I can't imagine how she has a ticket going spare—I happen to know that show has been sold out for weeks."

"Ahh, I suspect ulterior motives."

The look she gave him was incredulous.

"I can't imagine what those would be," she said dryly.

"If it helps, her husband doesn't approve either."

"Her husband! Jack, you cannot be encouraging this..."

"It's for her niece, Phryne," he said, his voice conveying his feelings on the matter rather effectively. "And no, I'm not."

"A niece?" Phryne asked, looking suspiciously perkier. That _really_ did not bode well. "Well then, I _am_ sorry to have staged a rescue. I do hope I haven't thwarted the course of true love, Jack—I would hate to be the cause of your unhappiness."

Then she actually batted her eyelashes at him and Jack found himself chuckling.

"I suppose, Miss Fisher, that I will have to make do with your friendship instead."

There was no denying her smug satisfaction at that, or the softness in her eyes that did all sorts of things to his defenses. 

"At least for now, Jack," she said. "But things are subject to change."

The promise hung between them, weighty but not heavy, and the very corners of her lips curled up knowingly, daring him to take it further. He coughed and glanced away; they _were_ still in his office, after all.

“Be that as it may, Miss Fisher,” he said, finding his way back to firmer ground, “I’m still not telling you who made the biscuits.”


End file.
